


All This and Heaven Too

by rattatatosk



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Asexual Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Asexual Relationship, Cuddle Your Demon, Fluff, Intimacy, M/M, Touch-Starved, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-09 06:54:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19883464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rattatatosk/pseuds/rattatatosk
Summary: After everything that's happened in the past few days, Crowley needs to be reassured that they're both on the same page. Aziraphale is happy to do so.(A companion piece to "Harmony Incarnate", from Crowley's POV.)





	All This and Heaven Too

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Harmony Incarnate](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19240912) by [purewanderlust](https://archiveofourown.org/users/purewanderlust/pseuds/purewanderlust). 



_and the heart is hard to translate,_  
_it has a language of its own_  
_it talks in tongues and quiet sighs_  
_in prayers and proclamations_  
_in the grand days of great men-_  
_and the smallest of gestures,_  
_in short shallow gasps_

After the Ritz, they walk in silence back to the bookshop. The streets are quiet, the few humans around peacefully going about their evening, blissfully unaware of their close brush with annihilation. Crowley is exhausted, but he can't seem to make himself relax, nerves still alight and humming with a tense electricity, like the subtle buzz of power lines high above. He can't quite believe that they, too, have escaped destruction and are (for the moment, anyway) relatively safe while Heaven and Hell sort themselves out. Can't make himself stop the centuries-long habit of scanning their surroundings, circling Aziraphale, watching for any danger.

Maybe it's that lingering anxiety- the knowledge that despite the brief reprieve they've won, Heaven and Hell will still be coming for them someday- but he finds himself walking much closer than usual to Aziraphale, close enough to touch. Or perhaps it's just a desperate need to reassure himself that the angel is really _here_ , alive and unharmed, despite everything that happened to them in the past few days. He drifts even closer than he intended at one point, close enough that their hands brush together, and has to stop himself from flinching away. There's nothing he wants more than to grab Aziraphale and hold on tight, to wrap himself around the angel in tight coils, grounded by sight and scent and touch-- but no. That's not- he can't ask for that. Shouldn't even let himself think about it. Every time he does, he remembers a night fifty years ago and the words _you go too fast for me,_ and whatever resolve he's worked up crumbles to pieces.

He's wanted for _so long_ , and he thinks- he _thinks_ that finally, they're on the same page about this. _We're on our side_. But this thing between them has always gone unspoken, and to push it into the realm of the concrete is terrifying. _He_ doesn't have any doubts about this- he never has, with Aziraphale, but the angel is more cautious and always has been. Aziraphale doesn't make the first move, has to be cajoled and tempted and reasoned into breaking the rules, and even with both of them shattering their alliances today he's not sure that's changed.

Except- the next time their hands touch, Aziraphale's turns under his, offering a palm. Crowley takes it before he can stop himself, twining their fingers together. His heart soars at the contact, this simple, tactile assurance of everything they've avoided saying for millennia. Crowley thinks he might drown in it, but he can't make himself let go. Still, cautious and uncertain, he flicks a quick glance over at Aziraphale, questioning. The angel beams back at him. So that's- that's okay then. He hasn't overstepped. It seems he is allowed at least this much.

It takes a lot of of effort to maintain his cool, collected facade, and not break out into a grin himself.

His delight fades as they reach the door of the bookshop, and their hands part as Aziraphale fumbles for the keys. Crowley stares up at the building, through the dusty windows onto dustier shelves, and tries to bury the memory of fire licking at their edges, the icy shock of despair that cut through him to find the place alight and Aziraphale _gone, gone forever, leaving Crowley all alone--_

He blinks, realizes Aziraphale is waiting for him, and steps inside.

There's another feather-light touch on his arm, and Crowley flinches a little before letting himself be guided to the sofa. He collapses into it immediately, the weight of the last week hitting him all at once. The grief of losing Aziraphale, the stress of holding the Bentley together, the sheer chutzpah of stopping time and staring down Heaven, Hell, and Satan himself-- he sinks into the cushions, breathes in the familiar musty scent of dust and ancient paper, and thinks he might sleep for a week.

There's a dip in the cushions next to him, and he looks up, startled, to find that Aziraphale has settled down next to him, rather than taking his usual chair. He offers a glass of wine with one hand and Crowley takes it, too stunned to say anything, hardly daring to hope what this might mean. He leans ever so slightly against Aziraphale as the angel settles into place, testing. _Is this really okay, Angel?_ Aziraphale only nudges him back, his eyes twinkling with the fondness Crowley has seen so often over their millennia together.

The wine flows- one bottle, two, then a third, and Crowley allows himself to surrender to the exhaustion weighing him down; lets the alcohol wash his fears away for the moment and embrace the comfort that Aziraphale is offering. He slumps down onto the angel's shoulder, breath slowing as he slips toward sleep. He wants to worry that he's overstepping still-- but he is warm and surrounded by comforting familiarity, and it settles over him like a heavy blanket that smothers his fears. He thinks he feels Aziraphale take the wine glass from his slackening fingers- but it doesn't matter, blending into the soft haze of feeling _warm, safe, loved._

He is nearly asleep when something touches the back of his neck and he starts; it's only Aziraphale still, rearranging him, but he's guiding Crowley towards his lap and _that_ is enough to make him struggle to sit up. He has been offered more tonight than he ever reasonably expected, and he cannot quite bring himself to believe that there might be more to come; the generosity threatens to overwhelm him. Even as Aziraphale shushes him and deftly combs his hair with his fingers, he lays there, tense, waiting for the angel to pull back, to realize he'd gone too far and retreat to his usual distance.

But Aziraphale keeps petting him, running his perfectly trimmed nails through short strands, gently scritching at the roots, and eventually Crowley gives in, relaxing into the touch and settling more comfortably into the couch. Perhaps this is a dream. That must be it- he fell asleep on the couch and he's dreaming, and that- that's all right. He can let himself enjoy that.

Time passes, long moments of serene silence, before Aziraphale calls his name. Crowley turns to look at him. There's an odd expression on the angel's face, and he leans down to take Crowley's sunglasses off. Crowley stills, tension returning to his limbs, uncertain what to expect. He thought he'd known where they stood, but this last week-- this last day-- even these last few hours has thrown his understanding off completely. Has Aziraphale realized his mistake? Is he preparing to tell Crowley it's been a wonderful evening, but it's time for him to go? He holds himself tightly, ready to retreat or apologize, waiting for whatever excuse the angel has found to pull back.

Instead, Aziraphale leans down and kisses him.

Crowley nearly chokes on his surprise, letting out a strangled gasp as he fights not to swallow his own tongue. Aziraphale flinches, and starts to pull away, so Crowley reaches out with both arms to reel him back in, clinging on tight as he can, kissing him back, over and over. He didn't expect this, would never have asked for it, but he needs the angel to know he is _absolutely_ okay with it.

Aziraphale relaxes into the moment, kissing back, and relief pours through Crowley like cold clear water, washing away the fears and anxieties that have been haunting him. The fizzing in his veins no longer feels like electricity but champagne bubbles, a shimmering light he thinks might just be bliss. For a little while they are in a world unto themselves-- a moment of sublime understanding, two souls wholly in sync, transcendent. It's _perfect_.

"I'm sorry I made you wait so long, my dear," Aziraphale murmurs, when they break off at last, stroking Crowley's cheek. "I do hope you can forgive me?"

Crowley grins so widely he thinks his face may actually split in two, and pulls Aziraphale down for another kiss in answer.

**Author's Note:**

> Title and lyrics from "All This and Heaven Too" by Florence + the Machine


End file.
